Survive
by CyborgCinderella
Summary: It's almost a year after the opera, and Shiloh's adapted to life in the city. And she's trying to survive,trying to get through it all while looking for someone. Someone who deals in the glow, and who you can never find unless he want you to. Grilo, rating will change. title and summary might also change.
1. Chapter 1

Shiloh kept her head down and walked quickly. Her boots slapped loudly on the slimy concrete, echoing off the alley walls. Her hair fell into her eyes and she tossed it away impatiently. It had grown surprisingly fast and was now becoming a hindrance, long enough to fall into her eyes, but too short to tie back without looking ridiculous.

If there was one good thing about her hair, it was that it made her look older. In her old wig and smock she could've been mistaken for twelve. She was almost eighteen now, and looked it. She'd traded in her smocks for skirts, wore more leather and less lace. If you wanted to remain unseen, it was best to dress like those around you. Even if they were hookers.

Shiloh turned a corner and almost collided with a prostitute, currently "engaged". She averted her eyes and carried on, trying not to blush. However ignorant Shiloh had been to the "love market" when she first moved, she had gotten an unwanted education every time she stepped outside her door. Hardly anything surprised her anymore. But it didn't mean she wanted to see.  
She shuddered keeping her eyes trained on the ground, avoiding looking at the entwined bodies in doorways and niches, occasionally stepping over a drugged up junkie, almost blue with cold and barley breathing. Sometimes they lay there for days. Sometimes they never got up. They cold would get to them, and body snatchers would carry them off before they stopped breathing.  
The thought of body snatchers made Shiloh quickened her pace, and soon she could see the flickering neon sign of the shoddy block of flats where she lived.  
Body snatchers were becoming a growing problem in the city, along with several new markets that had bloomed on Rotti's death. Body snatchers would take the freshly dead, or even the drugged living, and use their organs in backstreet surgery. And since one hand washes the other, they worked in conjunction with the graverobbers, who supplied them with zydrate. They pumped their patients so full of the glow that they usually became addicts within week of the surgery. If they lived, that is.

Stepping in to the grimy archway of the apartment block, Shiloh was fumbling with her keys, when her bracelet signalled an incoming message. The bloated face of her landlord hovered above her wrist, and she felt a flush of panic rush through her. Sure enough, when he spoke, he did not bear good news.

"Ms. Wallace, you are over two weeks late with your rent. If you do not deliver the required payment within two days, I will be forced to send you a notice of eviction." Here his nasally voice changed from the official recorded message. "There are plenty of people out there who would do anything to have that apartment. And I mean anything." His voice made her shiver, "so find so way to pay up, or pack up!" The transmission cut.

Shiloh stepped into the lobby and leaned against the graffitied door. She sighed and seemed to deflate. She couldn't pay. She knew what he intended by his last sentence and the thought made her sick. She glanced back in the direction of the street and shuddered. No, she would never reduce herself to that.  
She took a deep breath, instantly regretting it, the air smelled like urine and mould, and told herself the concentrate on the simple things, until she could think clearly. Simple things, like choosing between the filthy stairs to get to her flat, or the rank elevator.  
The former was more attractive. Yes it involved several flights of stairs that creaked and felt like they were going to collapse at any time, but the elevator was generally used as a public toilet, and occasionally as a "working area" for some of the less picky hookers. It also had a tendency to shut down erratically and Shiloh detested small, confined spaces.  
With those options unnecessarily weighed up, she headed towards the stairs, but hadn't even made the first step when the doors of the lift grated open. She wouldn't have given it a second glance but for the smell.  
Sickly and sweet, bringing with it memories of the opera and a feeling of guilt and shame she had tried to forget. Her eyes were dragged towards the lift and she clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle the scream.  
A Repo man was standing before her, black leather gloves dripping blood, eyes unreadable behind mirrored goggles, shaded beneath his wide-brimmed hat. She stepped back and met the stairs, falling painfully against them and scrambling away. This man wasn't her father. If he wanted he could kill her and no one would even care. He regarded her blankly, and then walked past her, opening the door to the back alley and out into the night.  
Shiloh exhaled and slumped against the dirty, rotten stairs. Relief and adrenaline pounded through her body and she took a moment before she got up, winching at her new bruises. Suddenly, she realised that the scent of blood was still strong in the air. Slowly, eyes half closed, she turned towards the still-open elevator, and fought down the urge to retch. Lying in a pool of her own, still-warm blood was a young woman. Her throat had been slashed viciously, her head almost severed from her body, and her belly sliced open. Tears filled Shiloh's eyes because, beneath all the blood, she recognised her. She was one of the nicer escorts; at least, she didn't steal Shiloh's shopping when she dropped it.  
Her name was Li, and she had been hooked on zydrate for three years. Her arms where pitted with needle marks, and it was the least Shiloh could do, but hope she was high when she died, so she didn't feel anything. But by the look on her face, she doubted it. A purse lay strewn across the now sticky, blood-stained floor. A scattering of condoms, a tube of lipstick...and a little glass vial.

"Zydrate comes in a little glass vial." His voice, low and deep, spoke from a memory. Zydrate. The little container glowed an eerie blue, reflecting oddly off the dark substance that coated the lift floor. Shiloh had to make a choice. Soon the body truck would be round, or possibly, the body snatchers. Money was needed. Zydrate was expensive. And people needed zydrate.  
Shiloh glanced one last time and the dead girl, crouched down and gently closed her eyes for her. Then her fingers closed around the cold cylinder and she ran from the lift and up the stairs, trying not to think about the noise she was making or the girl left behind her, all her thoughts were on the little bottle of liquid and how she would go about selling it.  
"Zydrate comes in a little glass vial."  
"A little glass vial?"  
"A little glass vial."


	2. Things you hear in a diner

**well...i got one review. So I'd like to thank Jacobycake110 for that :)**  
**I gotta tell you guys, I normally give up on stories if I don't get reviews. I'm not going to beg(yet) for them, but I'd really like if you guys would tell me what you think...**

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Gray-blue light filtered through the grubby window. It was morning, but Shiloh hadn't slept a wink.

The bouts of insomnia had begun shortly after father's death. At night she was plagued with memories of screaming, and the smell of blood on her skin. Her fathers' face would swim before her eyes, distorting, becoming the mask of the repo man, a monster. The screams ringing in her ears would change to Blind Mag's final note, before she sacrificed herself.

Shiloh would stare at the ceiling and count the cracks, waiting for the images to fade and the new day to begin. There were ninety-seven cracks on the ceiling of her room.  
Tonight, sleep hadn't been an option. Every time she closed her eyes, Li's ravaged body flashed before her. Her blood still stained Shiloh's hands, and the drug she had stolen from a dead woman glowed in the dark. It drew Shiloh's eyes to it, like a moth to a flame. Guilt lingered with her like it's negative after image.

So, half-asleep and nervous, Shiloh walked briskly through the gloomy, daylight streets. People loitered in doorways, bodies lay in gutters. In the distance, there was an occasional scream or police siren. It was a beautiful day.

Shiloh held her bag close, aware of the vial nestled in the lining of her purse. It was hard to believe the small bottle, no bigger than her thumb, was worth more than two weeks pay. The thought made her heart race.

Finally she reached the cheap diner where she worked. A large flickering sign boasted: "GENCOOK". It was a novelty idea, launched by GENECO, in order to gain extra publicity. It was a flop, only a few branches remained open, places where people didn't care what was in the food, as long as it was hot.

Shilo entered the greasy kitchen, and was immediately assaulted with the smell of food. Her stomach growled. Shilo desperately needed to eat, it had been two days since her last meal. As she walked in, she spotted the familiar empty bottle of vokda standing on the countertop. Shiloh sighed, it wasn't even gone eleven. And if he was drunk she might get away with stealing food, but definitely not going without wearing the uniform.

The theme of the diner was, of course, GENECO. The faces of the Largo kids were plastered on the wall, extra features added by the neighbourhood vandalisers. Not much, a moustache on Luigi, blacked out eyes on Pavi, and so many obscenities scribbled over Amber that Shiloh had to be told it was her when she first started.

Worst of all were the uniforms. GENECO were famous for their scantily clad GENterns, and a take on their uniforms had been applied to here.  
Shiloh hated the disgustingly short, white dress, complete with plastic apron and mask. In fact, it wasn't even the outfit that annoyed her, it was the way she was expected to act in it. Like a surgery-addicted, bimbo slut. Shiloh blushed easily, and got flustered when men leered at her. There was no point being flattered, because it was only the outfit and it's reputation they saw. She knew that months of not eating properly had made her alarmingly skinny. She was all angles, and even more awkward looking. It was amazing, the power of a uniform. It could somehow make men see a curvy GENtern, instead of a scarecrow in a sheet.

* * *

Body snatchers and graverobbers of the city found it something of a novelty to march into the diner and proclaim loudly that they wanted a "zydrate juice" smoothie. It was also one of the cheapest places that served food, that didn't have rat as meat, or other people. They were something like regulars, so comfortable in the filthy environment that the spoke freely, allowing Shiloh to pick up on back-street gossip, if she listened carefully. It wasn't anything she really needed to hear, but it was always handy to know which gangs were feuding and what dealer was mixing glow sticks with zydrate.

However, the day was slow, and Shiloh was finding it difficult to stay awake. She was half scrubbing, half falling asleep on a table, when three men entered. She hadn't seen them before. They were graverobbers, judging from the state of their clothes. Unusually, there was no wolf whistle on her approach and only one, a broad shouldered black man, acknowledged her. He had a tattoo along the side of his face, and he grinned good-naturedly at her. Shiloh silently took their orders, taking in the men as she looked around the table.

There was an older man next to the tattooed one, with a scraggly goatee and a crooked nose. He was focused on the youngest of the three, sitting across from them. They spoke in low voices, ignoring Shiloh, because everyone knows GENterns don't listen, don't remember. Shiloh found that idea useful, from time to time.

It wasn't as though she deliberately listened; she just quietly went about her business and occasionally heard something interesting while working next to the table. She was mopping the aisle beside the table when she heard it.

"... I don't see why he's 'The Graverobber' anyway," huffed the younger one. He had a taut face, and a long plait down his back. There was a sigh from the bearded man, like this was a complaint often heard.

"Because he is, Rat. He's the best, never been caught."

Rat grinned smugly. "Noy for much longer, if he doesn't give Amber what she wants."

"What are you talking about, boy?" snapped the other, leaning forward. Rat glanced at Shiloh, who had frozen to the spot. After almost a year, she had heard some kind of mention of him! And she was about to blow all chances of hearing more if she didn't act now. Thankfully, the bell rang for their order, and Shiloh dashed away, trying not to glance back. She felt Rat watching her leave.

Two minutes later she was back, carrying a tray laden with food, just in time to catch the end of their conversation.  
"Into hiding? Him? What about his customers? Especially...y'know." The tattooed man jerked a thumb at the graffitied wall hiding Amber. The goatee man scoffed.

"You can't be serious, Rat, she'd find him." Rat shook his head, smirking.

"Nah, she's been lookin' for him. Too high an' mighty for a dumpster now, so he is. She's just waitin' on Masque Street now, for him to send a runner or somethin', I bet."  
The older man sighed, taking a plate from Shiloh. "I'd be there in a shot if she'd buy from anyone else."

"She will," said Rat determinedly, "It's been weeks now, they're all desperate. Who cares if its mixed with glow sticks, it still works, right?"  
Shiloh's hand shook as she set down the plates, and Rat glared at her, then surprisingly, grinned. His teeth were pointed and sharp. She shuddered. Shiloh didn't like this man, but knew what she had to do.

* * *

**So, there yeah go. And the next one is all ready to go, so there'll be an update next Sunday if I get a few reviews.**

**Might even be a double update if a get a lot, cause the exams will be over and I'll be a happy person XD**

**th-ank you...**


	3. Alleys and Stampedes

**Sorry its been so long everyone, I've been on two holidays and had absolutely no time between them to post this :P**  
**Anyway, I'm sick atm so I'll try to type up the next few chaps within the next few days :3**

**Thanks to the new reviewers and followers :D 3**

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Rain misted down on the city, slowly soaking into the thin coat Shiloh was wearing. It formed a dewy cover on her hair that sparkled under the orange streetlamps. She stared up at the sign built into the wall. Some of the letters had been scratched off. "Ma_que Stre_t", it read. She peered down the alley and felt a vague familiarity, but all the streets around here looked the same anyway. Flickering lights illuminated the alley, casting irregular shadows over everything; causing confusion to whether what you were looking at was a pile of rubbish, or a sleeping junkie. Steam rose from vents, and shadowy figures faded in and out of sight. The whole place stank of garbage, and Shiloh wondered if she had found the right place.

Looking down the street, Shiloh's heart sank. How was she supposed to find Amber in all this? She cursed, annoyed that she hadn't stopped at any newsstands along the way, to check for Amber's weekly look. The hovering billboards only came around this side of the city once a day and she had missed them too. Amber could be any one of these shivering, ragged people. Shiloh could see figures in doorways looking her way, and, as casually as possible, made her way to a stairwell, sheltering under the niche. She sat gingerly on the damp steps and wondered if Amber would show before she got mugged, if she did at all. Movements in the shadows made her clutch her purse tightly and she shuffled nervously. There was a movement on the staircase behind her. Shiloh didn't move, trying to look inconspicuous.

"Hello there," a voice whispered in her ear. Shiloh yelped, tripping off the steps and into the arms of someone waiting on the street.

"Aw, don't run from us, baby," chuckled the one now twisting her arms behind her back. She could feel the calluses on his hands, and he pulled her so close that his breath was on her neck.

"I-I don't have anything you want!" cried Shiloh, trying to break free and wincing when her captor redoubled his grip. There was a snigger from the stairwell, and someone leisurely walked down the steps and into the light.

"Oh, I can't say I agree," he grinned, showing sharp, pointed teeth. It was Rat, his hair loose and plastered to his scalp with rain, but it was him all the same. Shilo's heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, she thought she had missed her medicine. But it was only terror coursing through her veins. He stepped towards her, and looked her up and down.

"What's a waitress like you, doing in a place like Masque Street?" he asked nastily. His breath reeked.

"'Reckon you could ge' a bit bashed up down 'ere, if you're no' careful," said the man behind could hear the grin in his voice. He had a British accent, cockney, maybe.

"Wouldn't want to 'urt that pretty li'l face."

Rat was now caressing her cheek, his fingers cold and clammy. He laughed when she tried to bite them, flicking her nose.

"Hey now, we don't wanna hurt you." He traced Shiloh's jaw line, "Surgeons don't pay for a damaged face..." Shiloh's blood ran cold as his words sunk in. She looked around the alley wildly. The people milling in the shadows pointedly avoided looking at them. She realised calling for help would be useless, and began to shake. Shiloh didn't often cry, but this was too much. Tears blurred her vision and streamed down cheeks, mingling with the cold rainwater. Rat rolled his eyes.

"Oh for Christ's sake! Just tell me where Graverobber is, and I won't do anything to you, alright?" he cried, throwing his hands in the air. Shiloh looked at him, confused. "Wh-what are you talking about?" she croaked. Rat looked at her for a moment before lashing out, catching her at the corner of her eye. Sparks exploded across her vision, blinding her for a seemed Rat didn't mind about damaging her face after all.

Before she had blinked the stars away, Rat had lunged and torn her purse from her shoulder. The strap broke easily, and by the time Shiloh's vision had cleared, Rat was rooting through her bag. His features broke into a grin and he held the zydrate vial aloft, tossing the bag to the floor. Immediately the atmosphere in the alley changed. Every pair of eyes was focused on the bright blue vial. All conversation hushed, so when Rat spoke, his voice seemed louder than ever.

"Now, now, waitress, what do we have here? And don't tell me it's yours, 'cause we both know you're not on the glow." Around them, a crowd was forming, the blue light softening the look of thin faces, but not hiding the desperation in their eyes. Rat turned to them now, annoyance clear on his face.

"Back off, scum! Once I get what I want, you'll get your fix!" he snarled, brandishing the vial. Reluctantly, the crowd thinned, though Shiloh could still feel every pair of eyes watching them. Rat grinned at her, and glanced at the shadows. She thought she saw a flicker of nervousness cross his face, but then it was gone, and suddenly, he tossed the vial in the air. As one, the alley held their breath. Shiloh cried out as she watched the little bottle soar into the air, seeming to hang for a moment as it reached it's peak, before plummeting back to earth. Rat caught it without looking.

Shiloh would've collapsed from relief, but the goon behind her still held her. Rat tossed the vial in the air again, not as high this time.

"So, you wanna tell me where he is now?" Rat offered, plucking the vial out of the air like a feather. Shiloh could barely answer.

"I don't know, I-I really don-"she was cut off as Rat slammed a fist across her jaw. Pain shot through her and she heard a crack, tasting metal. Rat stepped closer to her, so they were almost nose to nose.

"Don't fuck with me, bitch!" he growled. "I saw you get all squirrely at the diner. And don't even pretend you're a dealer, 'cause I know every one of 'em."

Shiloh looked at her feet, feeling the blood in her mouth well up and ooze through her lips, trickling down her chin. It dripped to the floor, causing dark drops that disappeared within moments of hitting the cement, washed away by the rain. Rat ran his fingers through Shiloh's hair, yanking it painfully so she was looking him in the eye.

"I can do this all night," he whispered. He wrapped a cold hand around her neck, digging his thumb against her windpipe. He smiled gently and began to all apply pressure.

"You know what I think?" he asked rhetorically, keeping a tight grip on Shiloh's locks as she struggled.

"I think you ran straight to your precious 'Robbie' right after we left. I think you told him I was gonna take his customers'...and he wasn't gonna let that happen, was he?" He pushed Shiloh's head back forcefully and stepped away, throwing his hands in the air and looking expectantly around the alley. He was excited now, his voice echoing around the alley as he spoke.

"So he decided to come down here, like a man, to face me!" he cried, his voice booming off the walls. Then he grinned, and chuckled, bowing in Shiloh's direction, as if she could clap at his little performance. He held the vial in the palm of his hand and gazed down at it, then smirked at Shiloh, who was gasping for air.

"Oh, wait... he sent you," Rat chuckled again, and tossed the bottle in the air once more. There was a moment of silence as everyone followed it. Then a shot rang through the alley, and Rat was promptly shot in the head.

* * *

There was a moment of silence as the echoes of the bang faded, and then several things happened at once.

The man holding Shiloh saw his employer collapse, and waited approximately three seconds before throwing the girl to the ground and disappearing into the night. She could hear his heavy footsteps as he ran away. Everybody panicked, and evacuated the street in a flurry. Shiloh was unable to get up, so she curled in a ball and protected herself as best she could from the hobnail boots and stilettos that trampled her limbs and sank into her skin. The stampede was over in a matter of seconds, but to Shiloh it felt like eternity.

Once she realised that the street was empty, she uncurled painfully and sat up on the filthy pavement. The street was deserted. Wincing in pain, she raised herself into a crouch. Glancing around, she spotted something that, at first, she thought was a misshapen pile of trash. With a sudden lurch of her stomach, she realised who it was.

Shiloh almost retched when she recognised the late dealer, and then only by the bullet hole in his head. Without any protection from the oncoming stampede, Rat had been vulnerable to the assorted collection of footwear that Masque Street had to offer. Part of his face had been ripped away, and Shiloh could see a hint of white in the glistening red flesh. An eye socket looked hollow, something slimy leaking from beneath the lid. Blood pooled around his head like a gruesome halo, clotting in his hair, leaking from the small bullet hole in his had met his end, butchered in the gutter, like so many of his namesake.

Suddenly remembering why she was here, Shiloh scrambled forward. Rat was even more grotesque up close, and Shiloh shuddered at what she was about to do. But she was too far gone to turn back now. Taking a deep breath, she began to pat down Rats clothes, dry heaving whenever her fingers slipped through the rips in his clothes and touched the slimy, blood-coated skin beneath. She pulled out a battered wallet, which held nothing but a few ten-dollar bills and a picture of Rat and a girl, a few years older than Shiloh, snuggled under Rats protective arm. She smiled up at him in the picture, and Shiloh's heart clenched.

She left the photo with him, and regretfully pocketed the bills. Stealing from the dead was fast becoming a habit that she didn't want. She prised open his stiffening fingers, but to no avail. The zydrate was nowhere to be found. Sighing, she stood up, wiping bloody hands on her filthy jacket. Rat had thrown the vial in the air moments before his death, and although Shiloh had hoped it was some kind of trick, it obviously wasn't.

There was something else Shiloh had found strange in her search of Rat's cooling body. There was no zydrate to be found. Not even an empty vial to show the mark of his trade. A dealer with nothing to deal... Shiloh couldn't muse on it at that moment. What goes up must come down, and she would search for that little vial, even if just to find it's shattered pieces. To know all hope was lost before returning to reality.

She turned towards the piles of rubbish, bracing herself for a night of digging through filth. But before she could reach it, she was grabbed from behind and thrown, landing softly on the overstuffed bags, which burst, spilling garbage onto her.

She turned to face her attacker, but was met with a wall of bare chest and leather. Bewildered, Shilo shifted amongst the muck and tried to look up. As she stared up at the blank, visored faces of the bodyguards everyone in the city would recognise, she heard something tinkle across the pavement and hit against her foot. Her heart leapt, and slowly she reached down, not taking her gaze away from the emotionless face. Her fingers searched the damp pavement, and as she touched the cool glass, the men parted, showing Amber Sweet in all her glory.

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	4. Fallen angel

**I don't think I'm doing too bad with the updates for this, although do wish you people would review more :P**

**enjoy!**

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Shiloh hadn't seen Amber since the opera, at least not in person.

She was CEO of GENECO and ruled them all with an iron fist. She let Pavi play with the GENterns, and Luigi terrorise the surgeons, but they all knew who the boss really was.

Amber had turned out to be just as good as her father at running the family business. It was already so corrupt, there was little she could do to change it, apart from spend more money than her father would have ever dreamt of.

And she was just as infamous, changing her look every week, having a string of lovers, almost overdosing on zydrate in the backstreets of the city. Every move she made was caught on camera, and Shiloh had often wondered how the media still didn't know where she got her stash. Glancing at the body that was once Rat, she didn't have any doubts that some paparazzi never got to publish their pictures.

Stumbling, Shiloh clumsily knelt before her. She realised how scruffy she must look, since Amber almost shone in comparison to her filthy surroundings, like a diamond in the dirt. Her hair was in a short, blonde bob that framed her face and highlighted new, heightened cheekbones. She wore a white, feather coat that hung from her shoulders, showing creamy skin and the clingy, shimmering, gold sequinned dress beneath.

With the white feathers and the golden hair, and a face that looked unearthly perfect, Amber could've been an angel, come to deliver Shiloh from evil. And in some ways she was.

She looked down her nose at Shiloh, drawing her coat around herself.

"Don't I know you?" she asked, her voice snide and commanding. Shiloh scrambled to her feet, sneaking a look at the vial in her hand. It wasn't cracked, at least.

She looked at Amber, thinking quickly. Amber couldn't remember her, could she? Her own father probably wouldn't at this stage. Shiloh didn't know what she looked like, but she knew it couldnt be good. Her hair felt ragged and matted with grime, her clothes were ripped, showing the oozing gashes beneath the cloth. Her face felt swollen, and the small cut beneath her eye stung.

But it seemed Amber had an eye for bone structure, and she stepped closer to Shiloh, her goons moving with her.

"I've seen you before, haven't I?"

Shiloh shook her head desperately, not knowing how Amber would react if she really did remember.

"M-maybe..."

"You were with the Graverobber!" Amber's voice, sharp and accusing, filled the alley. Shiloh threw her hand in front of her face, bracing herself for the attack to come.

But there was no order from Amber. The rough hands Shiloh had expected didn't grab her, and the dreaded noise of a gunshot did not sound. The silence that filled the street was sudden and eerie.

Opening an eye, Shiloh chanced a glance at Amber. The blonde was staring at Shiloh, transfixed. More specifically, she was staring at her hand. Faint blue light was escaping between her fingers and Amber was trained on it like a sniffer dog.

Lowering her arms, Shiloh loosened her grip on the vial, cradling it in her palm. She looked down at the bottle, and then at Amber. Amber was looking at her with eyes a perfect shade of sapphire blue, that were filled with a hunger, a longing so intense that Shiloh almost winced in pain herself.

"W-where did you get that?" for the first time, a quaver entered Amber's voice. Shiloh thought fast. Could she tell the truth? Would Amber buy if she knew it wasn't from the Graverobber? From what she knew, the Graverobber was in hiding because of her. But maybe, with that much longing in her eyes, Amber wouldn't care.

"It's mine," Shilo stated, sounding amazingly more confident then she felt, "I'm here to sell it..." she trailed off.

Amber stared her down. "You? A dealer? Don't make me laugh." But she didn't turn, didn't walk away. Shiloh's hopes rose as she realised Amber was seriously considering her offer.

"Where did you get it?"

Shiloh's heart beat faster, and she knew the way she answered this question would seal the deal, literally. She thought carefully, aware she couldn't be too long in answering.

"From a- from a body," she answered, barely stammering. It wasn't a lie after all, just not a whole truth. But it had the desired effect on Amber.

"Pure..." the blond muttered under her breath. Seeming to make up her mind, she reached for the vial, and seemed surprised when Shiloh pulled away.

"I need to be paid, up front!" snapped Shiloh, tightening her grip on the vial. She tried to look seem like she knew what she was doing, although there was barely any point pretending now. "You know how much." She tried not to turn it into a question.

Amber looked at her, and a panicky thought struck Shiloh. Maybe there wasn't a set amount for her. Maybe she paid for her zydrate in...other ways. They stared at each other for a moment more before Amber rolled her eyes.

"Right." She tapped one of her men on the shoulder and clicked once. Stepping aside, he revealed another man holding a leather briefcase. Snapping it open, rows of crisp bills could be seen. Shiloh's mouth nearly dropped open at the sight of so much money. Amber remained insouciant, her eyes still locked on Shiloh.

Tearing her gaze away, she carelessly pulled a few wads of cash from the case and tossed them at Shiloh, who grabbed at them childishly. Once she had checked the bills, she offered the vial to Amber, who snatched it out of her palm without a word of thanks.

Then, without a second glance at the girl who stood, battered and bruised in the accumulated filth of Masque Street, Amber turned and stalked down the street, to a previously unnoticed black limousine. She stopped to whisper something to one of the men who were helping her in, tracing along his jaw, turning his face towards hers. It was over in a moment, and once Amber was in the car he turned his masked stare turned towards Shilo, his expression unreadable.

Shiloh leaned against a wall, with the money clutched to her chest and watched as Amber disappeared into the smoky interior of the limo and cruised away into the night. The bodyguard who stared at her was the last to enter the car, and she shivered when he turned away.

All at once she felt vulnerable, and recalled the earlier shooting and the corpse that lay not even two meters from her. Grabbing a nearby bag, she stuffed the money into it and ran, clutching it to her chest.

She tried not to look at the dead body as she passed it, or think about the people still lurking in the alley. She swore she would never get involved with anything like it again, hoping beyond hope that she wouldn't need to.

But the sub-market, the drug market, just has a way of drawing you in...

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**ok, now I'm gonna ask a question.**

**How badly do you want the graverobber to show up?**

**cause i could totally make him never show up... OK i couldn't, but i could make him hurry up if i get more reviews :3**

**Thanks for reading, and following and favoriting :D**


	5. Cold heart

**Ok guys, um...yeah...no graves yet.**

**He's currently occupied...in my bed. Haha, but I just needed to stick this chapter in before, HE'S IN THE NEXT ONE I SWEAR.**

**Thanks for stickin' with me~**

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The days that followed Masque Street didn't feel quite real for Shilo. She'd enjoyed the look on her landlord's face when she'd handed over the rent, and paid off another month, early.

But she was haunted by the death of Rat. His face was another that had joined the ranks among the night-time terrors. He'd only wanted Graverobber's location after all, and he'd been shot because of it. That girl in the picture in his wallet, that smiling girl, had been left alone in the world. Shilo knew how that felt, to have someone suddenly ripped away from you.

She shivered, snapping out of her daydream. It was Shilo's day off, the one day where she was free from the smell of grease and her constricting uniform. But Shilo couldn't enjoy it. Every time she stepped outside, she felt she was being followed.

She had spent her day so far cleaning her tiny flat and lying on her bed, listening to the crackly radio while zoning in and out of consciousness. Around the third time she had woken up, she realised she was wasting her day, all because she was afraid of a stupid feeling that was probably all in her head.

Pulling on a net top and leather shorts, she grabbed her keys. Slinging her heavy black coat around her shoulders, she left, trying not to glance behind her at the dingy corridor. Nestled in the deep pockets of her coat, alongside her shiny, slim room keys, was an old brass one, heavy and spotted with rust. She held it in her palm, its weight reassuring her.

She tried to convince herself that there was no reason to feel nervous. She was only going to visit her family, after all.

Shilo stepped through the cemetery gates, feeling almost at home. Letting herself into the crypt, she laid a white rose on her mother's grave, and was reminded of all the times she had done this with her dad. She looked at the newer grave of the two, and her heart clenched.

She sat by her father's final resting place, pressing his rose to her lips before placing it on the cool marble.

Shiloh looked around the tomb, as familiar as any old room in her house. She couldn't remember the amount of times she'd been down here. Paying respect with her father, whose tomb she sat by now, or escaping from her room, going to the only place she could be closest to the outside world.

She had been here so many times; she had almost forgotten that it was a burial ground. But now, sitting beside her father's grave, the marble of his tomb bright in contrast to the rest of the time-worn stone, Shilo could only feel death in this once comforting place.

She couldn't hold it in anymore. She had no-one to confide in. The events of the week were all too much, so now, leaning against her father's tombstone, Shiloh softly began to cry.

She just wanted someone to talk to.

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-_**Snap**_-

A shutter closed softly, taking Shiloh's image as she entered the graveyard, catching her nervous glance over her shoulder. The digital image flickered onto the camera's screen, casting pale light on the photographer's face. There was a chuckle, as a cloud of smoke hit Shiloh's photo, obscuring her face.

In the centre of the city, in the top office of the imposing cement fortress that towered above the rest, that boasted the flashing sign of GENECO, sat Amber. The chair she sat in was expensive and comfortable, as was the rest of the decor in the room. The decor was no longer that of dull cement walls and tattered furniture that Rotti used to intimidate his visitors. The theme of the room changed nearly as often as Amber, and she liked it to match. Today it was white, a polar bear fur rug, and off-white patterned wallpaper. A white-and-gold velvet loveseat took up the centre of the room, next to a coffee table painted in gold leaf. Guilded-edged mirrors were everywhere, so everywhere she looked, Amber would see multiple reflections smiling back at her.

Amber lounged in the large plush armchair behind her desk, scanning through reports shown to her by a bodyguard, although really only interested in the tabloid magazine she held that showed scandalous pictures of her bender the week before. She smirked, turning a page. And they thought she'd cleaned up her act.

She was just wondering if she should try a darker look, when the door of her private elevator slid open. A thin man in a trench coat entered the room, clutching his briefcase in both hands. He looked nervous, as he should when in the same room as the woman he had shamed again and again with backstreet pictures and stories.

He was a private detective. Well, more like "the word on the street" kinda guy. He was an informant, glorified paparazzi. But he was taking this job as a chance to redeem himself in Amber's eyes, and in the briefcase he held was all he could gather in the few days he had.

He sat carefully on the unblemished couch in front of Amber's heavily carved mahogany desk. It was the one piece of furniture that never changed and she leaned on it now, staring him down. She gestured impatiently to one of her bodyguards, who silently retrieved the case from the man, emptying its contents onto the desk. Pictures of Shilo, newspaper clippings and notes were strewn across the desk.

Rifling through them, Amber found a newspaper cut-out from the year before. She read the headline, but was more focused on the picture beneath. The girl portrayed in it was a little younger, looked a lot more cared for, and the hair was all wrong, but if Amber concentrated on the eyes and nose, she could see the girl from the alley.

She smiled grimly, before looking up at the "detective" with cold, violet eyes.

"Well? Mr...Grander?"

The man's tongue almost tripped over itself trying to answer as he forced himself to look her in the eye.

"It-It's Gardener, Jacob Gardener, ma'am. All the information is there, you'd probably want to get st-" he stopped at Amber's stony glare. She raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow. Everything about her expression said that she had no intention of reading anything, except perhaps the glossy magazine that lay on her lap.

Gardener took a deep, nervous breath. Feeling like a scolded schoolboy, he began to recite his findings, keeping short and to the point.

"Ah, ahem, her name is Shilo Wallace. Eighteen, lives in flat 19 of the "Pleasant Place" lodgings, 52 Dawn Street. Works in a diner... erm... stays in at night, so far." He faltered at the sight of Amber rapping her nails on the polished surface of the desk, looking bored.

"Doesn't seem to have any friends. Went to a graveyard today, but I didn't-"

"She went into a graveyard? In broad daylight? Did she have needles? A bag, anything?"

Gardener shifted nervously in his seat. It was common knowledge that you weren't supposed to talk about this. GENECO still arrested anyone they could accuse of using street zydrate, yet here was the CEO, the boss, foaming at the mouth for a new dealer. He'd better be getting paid well for this.

"Couldn't see, ma'am. She was wearing a coat that would've covered three of her. Er...She could have? " he ended unhelpfully, growing more and more nervous.

Amber stared broodingly at his last picture, the one of Shilo entering the graveyard. The girl looked suspicious enough. And she was definitely ratty enough to be mistaken as one. _'I mean, look at that coat,_' thought Amber disdainfully.

To the terrified detective, it seemed Amber was reaching a decision. She chuckled to herself, tracing Shilo's printed face with an ivory finger.

"Who would've thought," she murmured, "The daughter of a repo man, reduced to a dealer of the glow."

She appeared to have forgotten that the detective was there, and he wondered if he should leave. He had an appointment with the reporter of FACE magazine, and he was being paid twice the amount as his job for the latest scoop on Amber. And he had a lot to tell them.

He began to stand up, but Amber raised a hand and he froze, awkwardly half-standing. She smiled at him, transparent honesty the only emotion on her perfect face.

"Detective? You've forgotten your payment," she said innocently. Gardener almost collapsed back to the couch in relief.

"Ah, yes ma'm, about that...I-I'd just like to thank you-" he stopped, once again because one of Ambers bodyguards had whispered something in her ear. She listened, glancing at the detective, then her smile widened, and she assumed a businesslike position behind her desk.

As the detectives confidence disappeared, so did Ambers smile. Her face was a mask of cold fury. Behind her, two of her men pulled guns from their holsters. Gardeners heart began to race and he backed away, forced to stop when he hit the loveseat.

"Bu-but..." he stuttered, as the men trained their guns on him. Amber inspected her nails, as if bored.

"You really didn't know, detective?" she asked loftily, holding her hand up to the light "I know who you are, what you're going to do," she looked at him and smiled "and I cant let it happen."

The bodyguards loaded their guns in synch. Gardener ran the length of the office, to the elevator, desperately pressing the open button, but to no avail. Pressing himself against the doors he stared, in wide-eyed terror, at the beauty sitting serenely behind the desk.

"Have you no heart?" he cried. The silenced guns made an anticlimax -_**fwip**_- as they were fired, but nevertheless tore through the man's skull just as well. Amber gazed coldly at the corpse the was now leaking blood onto her once-white floor.

"No," she said, "I've had many."

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**So? is it ok?**

**Cheesy enough for yeah?**

**Please review, even if it's to tell me I'm horrible from keeping Graverobber to myself XD**


	6. The Chase

**This is the longest chapter have ever written, typing this was like announcing war on my fingertips. I'm sorry for the lateness but schools on again and hat is going to be my excuse for the foreseeable future.**

**~I'd like to thank all my readers, and reviewers, I love you all X3**

**Well, enjoy my longest chapter yet!**

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Shiloh woke suddenly, slumped over the cold tomb, her face pressed against the engraved stone. Stretching, she brought her hands to her face, feeling the imprints the stone had left against her cheek. She winced as she touched the bruise beside her eye, a fading reminder of the week before.

Getting stiffly to her feet, she looked once more at her parents' graves, before lugging open the heavy door and stepping out. To her surprise, it was night. Not that it made much of a difference; the days were a permanent twilight anyway. Pulling her coat collar up around her face, she walked quietly from the cemetery, dodging behind headstones whenever she saw a guard approaching.

It didn't matter if she was here legally or not, after dark they were allowed to shoot on sight. There had been some close calls.

She jogged through the darkening streets and arrived, hot and out of breath at her address. The usual gaggle of scalpel sluts were gathered around her building's door, hiding from the cold and the cops.

They were there so often Shiloh had come to know them, well, in a way. Li used to be part of the crowd. The rest weren't half as nice. They catcalled as she approached.

"Look out girl, the boogieman's chasin' y'all!" Jordan, a tall, ebony girl in white fishnet called out to her.

"It's a little after your bedtime, don't'cha think?" sniggered Camille, a girl who couldn't have been more than a year older than Shiloh herself. They sneered as she approached, but Shiloh ignored them, pushing through her scantily-clad body blockade, to get to the door. But Harley leaned against it, preventing her from getting to the lock.

She looked Shiloh up and down, pushing back a strand of her bright-red hair as she did so. Shiloh felt nervous under her gaze. It was well known that Harley ruled the roost around here, with a temper as fiery as her hair. Dressed in chain-draped leather, she was not a force to be reckoned with. She smiled a mocking smile at Shiloh.

"So, uh, Shiloh...when did you join the ranks of our noble vocation?" she asked slyly, drawing titters from the rest of the crowd. She spoke well, like someone with a wealthy upbringing. Shiloh was completely lost. They had never accused her of being a hooker before. She supposed, once you are one, the insult became void.

"What are you talking about?" she asked, trying not to snap. Harley had a couple of spiked rings on that looked like they would hurt. Camille joined in, rolling electric blue, kohl edged eyes at her.

"Look, don't play around, you're just trying to hide it," She nudged Harley, who smirked, " making the John's come to you, that one we haven't heard before, huh, Harls?"

Shiloh looked between then, bewildered, and shook your head.

"I don't know what you're talking about, i-it must be someone else," she said, cursing inwardly at her stutter. But the girls ignored her, and carried on regardless.

"I don't know how you managed to build up such clientele, I would've heard if there was someone new on the block, " Harley was musing," but you must've been working hard, 'cause if I had two men who looked like that hanging around my front door, I'd dump all my regular Joes in a snap."

"Looked like they tipped well, too," added Camille, grinning.

Shiloh was still completely thrown, but a line in Harley's ramble had stood out for her.

"O-outside my door? How do you know where my room is?" her voice was slightly higher than usual, her stutter becoming prominent as she grew more and more nervous.

The two looked at her as though it was obvious, and for the first time, Jordan spoke up, laying a hand on the shoulder of a younger, petite girl next to her.

"Our Angel here has that nasty landlord as a manager," her lip curled in disgust and she added, "He likes the 'younger' type." Angel drew her feather boa tighter around herself and sighed.

"He sent your eviction notice one day, y'know, after... he had to say your room number and all... " she mumbled, trailing off. She was the quietest so far out of all of them, and even younger than Shiloh. She had long blonde hair, and would've been pretty, if not for the needle marks and scabs along her arms and legs.

Shiloh wanted to ask how they knew the men were there, but didn't want to seem so stupid, falling for this trick anymore. Harley had finally moved away from the door, and Shiloh jumped at the chance, turning the key and slipping in the door before anyone else could try to talk to her.

It was a sick joke they were pulling, she was sure. They were just trying to freak out the goody-two-shoes who thought she was so much better than them. Right? Well, there was only one way to find out, she supposed.

She pressed her ear to the thin door, waiting to hear the laughter, but it never came. They were talking, using the most common subject in the city, rich and poor, old and young alike. Surgery payments and repo men.

Harley and Camille must've been leaning against the door, for Shiloh could hear them loud and clear. Harley sounded concerned, something Shiloh was slightly surprised about.

"Look, Cam, you can't keep ignoring it; it's been over sixty days now." There was a snort of laughter from Camille.

"Harley, I'm fine, just because I'm not miss-pay-within-the-ninety-day-limit, doesn't mean I won't get it done. I've don't it before, once I pay, they forget about it, they never find me. It's just a matter of staying away from 'til I do. "

"It's not that easy, Sharpshooter's getting better. I mean, look at poor Li, and..." she lowered her voice to a whisper, and Shiloh had to stain to hear, "They're saying the surgeon is back!"

A silence followed these words, and went on for so long that Shiloh couldn't tell if they had moved away or not. Just as a cramp was building in her neck, there was a sigh. The news had shaken Camille; her voice was quieter, faltering.

"No... th-that's impossible," she gave a nervous giggle."No, no, I'll be fine... I'll be...fine."

Harley started to say something, but Shiloh pulled away, head spinning. Rubbing the crick in her neck, Shiloh pondered on Camille's reaction. The surgeon... the name sounded familiar.

The repo men had names didn't they? There was the Butcher, she was sure that was his name. He was very messy and most noticeable of them all, with a blood-spattered, once white apron worn with his uniform. And Wolf, who used dogs that sometimes that got to the victim first. She couldn't remember any others apart from Sharpshooter, the top dog since Surgeon had...

Shiloh stalled climbing the stairs, clutching the banister. The Surgeon, her father's repo man alter-ego, that's who they'd said was back? She leaned against the wall, ignoring the ominous creaking of the stairs, and took a deep breath. No, that couldn't be it...

Her father was dead, she had been at his grave today for Christ's sake! No, it had to be some scam cooked up by GENECO, to scare people into paying up. She shook her head, continuing on her journey; soon enough, his image would be used as the boogie-man if they could get away with it.

Wrapped in her thoughts, Shiloh walked on auto-pilot down her dark, musty hallway. Not looking where she was going, she tripped over something in the gloom, almost falling full-length on the stained carpet. Cursing, she felt around in the dark until her fingers closed around the item she tripped on. Holding it close to her face, she saw it was a jagged piece of wood, thin, but made heavy brass number fifteen nailed to it. Number fifteen was her apartment number. So what...? Clambering to her feet, Shiloh trotted down the hall, and was met with a horrible sight.

Her door was smashed in, bits of wood littering the corridor. The mess inside was visible to the world, and Shiloh stepped over the threshold in a daze, taking it in. Broken glass and pottery lay strewn across the floor, and her wardrobe had been pulled apart, clothes thrown carelessly on the ground. Her mattress was pulled off its boxspring, the stuffing protruding from the slashes ripped along it. Even the bare, overheard light bulb had been smashed.

Stepping through the rubble, Shiloh stood in the centre of the room, at a loss of where to start and what to do. Picking up her one good dress that lay, crumpled on the floor, she shook the glass from it, and sighed.

As she was contemplating the ruins of her dress, there was a movement behind her. The only other door in the flat, the one that led to the bathroom, was beginning to open. She reacted on instinct, scrambling to the window, and heaving at the latch. The frame was stiff, painted shut, and the door was almost fully open by the time she had opened it enough to squeeze though. Adeline was pumping through her veins as she collapsed onto the fire exit just below the sill and lay there, panting.

Two men were standing in the centre of her room, one holding a drawer that she recognised from her bathroom dresser. Shiloh knew who they were instantly. Tall, muscular, with identical shades, military-style haircuts, and leather jackets. They were Ambers bodyguards.

The one who was holding the drawer examined the contents, then dismissively emptied it and dropped it on the floor. Shiloh watched, listening to blood pound in her ears, trying not to make a sound. They were now tapping the walls and looking behind the few pictures that were hanging lopsidedly on the walls.

Sooner or later they were going to realize the window was open when it shouldn't have been, and so Shiloh began to slowly make her way to rickety, iron staircase, crawling beneath the windowsill.

The fire escape was old and unused, weak and corroding in places. Shiloh hesitantly tested the first step, and it seemed solid. But when she put her full weight onto it, the staircase let out a hair-raising groan that instantly caused the men inside to rush to the window.

For a moment, Shiloh was like a deer in the headlights, staring at the men as they gaped at her. Then, throwing caution to the winds, she raced down the stairs, feeling it creak and groan under her feet. A shudder ran through the flight of stairs as the men forced open the window and jumped onto them.

Rust-coated banisters tore her hands, chips flaking off as her fingers skimmed along them. She could barely keep up with her feet and as she stepped from rusting iron to slimy cement, she skidded into the nearest wall, grazing her hands on the rough brick.

Gasping with pain, she pushed of the wall and sped off down the gap between the buildings, bursting onto the street with Ambers bodyguards hot on her heels. She ran past her building's entrance, not even giving a second glance to the whores. They watched, speechless as she raced past.

Shiloh took turns randomly, but the men were still hot on her trail. As she turned a corner, her feet slipped from under her and her hip cracked painfully on the pavement. At the same time there was the unmistakable sound of a gunshot and the dustbin that was beside her erupted, in a shower of filth.

Crap, she thought as she stood up painfully, ignoring the pain shooting down her leg. She weaved this way and that as she ran; feeling like a fool. But it gave her an idea. She knew where to go.

Cutting left, Shiloh ploughed through a group of ragged people, who scrambled away, their yells following her down the street. She ran into someone who wasn't fast enough getting out of the way and sprawled, full-length, on the ground. She skinned her palms further and slammed her chin off the ground in her fall.

Shiloh could her pursuers' footsteps and guttural yells getting closer. Forcing herself onto her feet, she kept running. Her palms were now bleeding freely and she could taste metal in her mouth. There was a stitch in her side that was growing worse by the minute.

But her destination was almost in sight and she grinned, despite the pain. She chanced a glance over her shoulder, but they were still following. Up ahead she could see the graveyards gates, and beyond them, they searchlights.

Crashing into the tall gates she wrenched, desperately at the rigid bolt. It grated across and Shiloh pulled it open, the rusted hinges forming an ear-splitting shriek.

She didn't bother to close the gate; the men were barely a foot from her when she dashed through. Her boots crunched on the gravel and she slowed to a jog, hearing the men do the same behind her. They knew the rules as well as she did, and couldn't afford to be caught. She crouched behind a gravestone as a searchlight rolled past, and her followers paused too. A troop of gaurds marched past, and she pressed herself into the shadow the stone cast, holding her breath.

She could heard her blood pounding in her ears, and the stitch in her chest seemed to spike right through her heart, which was beating a tattoo against her ribs. When she took in a breath, it burned her throat.

The sound of boots on gravel made her start, and she moved deeper into the cemetery, crouching until gravel turned to grass, and she crawled, her knees sore and tender. Suddenly, the ground went from under her, and the world tilted.

Shiloh's right knee had sank into an open grave, and the lower part of her body had followed, pulled by its own momentum. She dug her nails into the grass as her feet tried to find footholds. But the earth was damp and rich, crumbling beneath her boots.

Her arms were aching and she could see the silhouettes of the men weaving between the gravestones. She had never been more terrified in her life.

Right up until someone grabbed her waist. Strong hands gripped her hips and pulled her down, reaching up to covering her mouth before she could draw a breath, let alone scream. Her arms were pinned behind her back, leaving her mouth free, but she wouldn't dare scream. Ambers bodyguards had stopped right in front of the grave, and her attacker pulled her into the shadows, hiding them both from view.

They didn't give the grave more than a second glance before moving on. Once they were out of sight Shiloh began to struggle, finally succeeding in twisting around to face her kidnapper, as it were. What she saw made all desire of fighting leave her mind. A few inches from her face, the repo mans eyes stared into her own.

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It was the surgeon, but the eyes behind the illuminated goggles weren't the sad brown eyes of her father. No these eyes, although at the moment filled with annoyance and possible concern, were a dark, hypnotising green. She had a feeling she had seen them somewhere before, but couldn't place it.

His gloved fingers were still digging into her upper arms, and Shiloh realised that he was the only thing holding her up. She tried to find her footing in the awkward space between the coffin and damp earth. Once she had, he let go and she fell against the wall and looked over at him knowing that she had no choice but to ask, to find weather he was really a repo or not.

"Help me," she mouthed.

He simply stared at her, and her heart sank. She sighed heavily and the repo man put a heavily gloved finger to the pace where his lips should be. Shiloh looked at him, surprised. He then pointed at her, and at the ground, as if to say "stay".

Before Shiloh could even process what he meant, he had clambered up the grave wall and disappeared into the night. She sank down against the damp earth wall, her legs bending awkwardly to fit beside the coffin. Her limbs were beginning to shake as the adrenaline drained from her body, to be replaced with cold fear.

She could barely stand, let alone climb the sheer grave walls. As she shifted on the cold ground, trying to find some space where she could feel at least a little comfortable, her hand slipped over the edge of the coffin something pricked her finger.

Stifling a yelp, Shiloh squinted through the gloom, reaching reluctantly into the coffin for the sharp object. Where she expected to meet the corpse's rotting legs she felt instead rough cloth, and metal.

Frowning, Shiloh pulled from the depths of the coffin a heavy, fold out bag that looked horribly familiar. It was like a wash bag, but lined with vials and two heavy needles strapped to the end. Pulling one of the vials from its pocket, she let out a low gasp as an eerie blue glow lit up the grave.

She could remember his first words to her. It was his job, to steal and rob. Her heart pounded as she realised who had been behind the mask. She gazed down at the corpse, whose mummified features had been thrown into sharp relief. It was his job, to rob-

"GRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAVESSSS!" the cry split the night, and all at once the graveyard was flooded with light, sirens, and gunfire. She could hear commands being issued, and the thump of many boots running in one direction. She shrank into the shadows as they passed, and stayed, frozen in a ball until the sirens had died down, but her mind was spinning.

She didn't know what to think, so she didn't, she just stared at the small, glowing vial in her palm like she had done so many nights before. She didn't want to think what that gunfire had meant, had he gotten away, would he come back? Or would she become another corpse in this graveyard?

It had been hours since the sirens had sounded for graverobber, and so when Shiloh heard footsteps approaching, she hadn't thought of scouts, or how suspicious blue light emitting from a grave would look. She delayed in putting the vial away, and instead of seeing the masked face of the repo man, she saw instead a different mask looking down at her. It was a guard, pointing a gun at her face. As he pulled the trigger, she threw up her hands. The gun made a small -fwip- as it fired and Shiloh felt something sharp, painful and cold pierce her forearm.

It didn't feel like she thought a bullet should, and she tensed, prepared for an onslaught of pain. But it never came. Suddenly, there was a heavy thump and the head of the guard was lying across her lap.

Silhouetted against the lightening night sky, was the repo man. But he seemed blurred to Shiloh, and as he jumped into the grave, he left a what looked like a trail of after-images after him. Approaching her, he held up her arm by the right wrist and she saw a small needle hanging from the flesh.

Clumsily, Shiloh gripped the syringe and pulled it out, but didn't feel any pain. Even her hand seemed blurry, and she waved it in front of her face, before pushing back her hair. Her eyelids are growing heavy, and she looked sleepily up at the repo man, at the eyes behind the mask.

He was looking at her strangely, his head tilted to one side. Shiloh could only see colours now, but she vaguely recognised the shape of the mask being lifted and a mass of long colourful hair framing a pale, featureless face.

As darkness closed around her, he last thing Shiloh heard was, in a voice that was almost familiar,

"Kid?"

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**Umm...iffy ending I know, but I'll start the next chapter right now!**

**It'll be up within the next um...month, I hope.**


	7. Ghosts of the past

**Ugh, this chapter was a chore to type out. First conversation between Graves and Shiloh and I was freaking out, I'm still not sure its right.**

**By the end I was just fed up with it, so sorry if it seems a bit abrupt. Otherwise, I like this chapter. Please tell me if you do too. Or if you don't.**

**And thank you to all my lovely new followers, your support is welcome, as are REVIEWS.**

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Shiloh woke of her own accord in a bed she didn't recognise. It was far softer than the springy, thin mattress she slept on at home. She was buried under a pile of blankets that were on varying stages of dirtiness, but they were warm. They smelled of earth, and sweat and stale smoke. A manly kind of scent, thought Shiloh, burying herself further underneath them. She didn't know why she thought that, for her father had only ever smelled of lemon soap and the sharp, medical scent of surgery disinfectant.

She turned over and groaned as every limb in her body protested, muscles sore and stiff. Every limb ached and she could almost hear the creak of her joints as she stretched. Yawning, she opened her eyes, and cried out in pain. Sunlight seemed to pierce her skull and burn her eyes from their sockets.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she rolled away from the offending light source, twisting blankets around herself as she did. However, she had not judged her position on the bed, and in a tangle of flailing limbs and blankets, she slid off the side of the bed, landing on the dusty floor with a thump.

For a while, Shiloh lay on the floor, annoyed and slightly disorientated. But finally, she rolled onto her stomach and pushed herself into a sitting position, clinging to the side of the bed for support.

Wrapping the largest blanket around herself, she staggered to her feet, legs made of lead. After the sudden bright light of before, the rest of the room seemed very dim. The only source of light was a guttering candle on a cracked plate, which cast more shadows than light. The "blinding light" from before was nothing more than a single sliver of grey light that fell from a gap in the curtains, across the pillows of the bed.

Eyes still growing accustomed to the gloom, she looked around. The room had an air of grandeur, though dust coated nearly every surface, and cobwebs choked the light fixtures. The four-poster bed Shiloh had been resting on took up most of the room, but there was an elaborate mantelpiece over a grate filled with ash, and a window seat with dusty velvet cushions, beneath heavy drapes.

A nagging feeling of familiarity began to grow in the back of Shiloh's mind. She walked towards the window, the trailing blanket leaving a clear path in the dust behind her. She flopped down on the window seat, raising clouds of dust that made her sputter and cough.

Disentangling her arm from the folds of the blankets, she reached up to the thick curtain and pulled it across jerkily, disturbing dust. Grey-blue streamed in through the dirty window, filling the room with light and dancing dust motes.

Shiloh recognised everything instantly. Things that had been cloaked in dust and shadows were obvious once seen in plain light. The mound in the corner was her old stuffed toys, and what she had thought was a bookcase, was really the glass cabinet containing her old bug collection.

She sank back into the cushions of the window seat, where she had once spent hours gazing out over the city, and once again looked around her childhood prison, her old room.

* * *

Shiloh found her boots beneath her bed, encrusted with dried muck, and still damp. Her coat was nowhere to be seen. By the time she had gathered up the courage to walk down the darkened corridor, the sky outside had dimmed to twilight. The watch on her wrist was missing, so she didn't even know what time it was, and the clock on the mantelpiece had been stopped on one thirty-three for goodness knew how long. And so, swaddled in blankets and holding the candle and plate in a trembling hand, with no clear goal in mind, Shiloh stepped from the room, closing the door behind her.

She should have known every inch of that long corridor, but in the darkness, lit only by dim candlelight, she felt completely lost. As she turned down the hall of portraits, the light flickered over shards of glass strewn across the floor.

She stepped carefully though them, following a path that had been more or less cleared already. Only a few of her mother's portraits remained, their flickering light casting ominous shadows that crawled across the floor. By the time she had reached downstairs, she was thoroughly freaked and the sky outside was dark.

The main hall was unchanged, apart from a pane of glass in the door that had been smashed in, either by a stone, or maybe a robber. Or perhaps a Graverobber, mused Shiloh. Cold wind that smelled of iron and car fumes whistled through the hole and around the hall, causing the candle to sputter.

Hastily Shiloh shielded the flame, turning away from the door. Once she had made sure it wasn't going to go out, she noticed that something in the hall looked strange. In the weak halo of light cast by the candle, the huge mantelpiece at the end of the hall seemed crooked. Was it a trick of the light? Shiloh wondered, stepping towards it. Surely it was just how the light caused the shadow to flicker erratically that made it seem wrong.

Suddenly, a gust of wind screamed through the broken window, and rattled the door in its frame. Shiloh jumped, causing hot wax to spill her hand. Yelping in pain, she reflexively dropped the plate, and clutched her hand to her chest. The plate hit the floor with a crash that echoed through the house, and the candle guttered and went out.

Biting back a curse, she bent and picked up the stub of the candle, ignoring the pain in her hand. As she kneeled among the remains of the plate, trying to quell the feeling of rising panic, she heard a commotion, like cutlery clattering to the floor. She looked up, confused. It seemed far off, like an echo, but it didn't come from upstairs or outside, she was sure.

Standing up, Shiloh looked towards the mantelpiece, to see if there were any matches on it, but instead saw something she had missed before; a crack, running all the way down the side on the mantelpiece, that had been hidden in the confusion of shadows the candle cast. The fireplace was pushed forward, if only by an inch. Stepping towards it, she examined the mantelpiece. The crack was less than half a centimetre wide, she couldn't get a grip on it, and scrabbled desperately at the crack.

Sighing, she stood back, and looked along the top of the mantel, trying to remember all the detective movies she had ever seen. It was a stupid idea, but she had to start somewhere. Most of the crystal knickknacks that used to clutter the mantel had gone, all except the old silver candlestick. It was suspiciously free of dust and gleamed dully in the dark. Shiloh grinned as she reached towards it.

She pulled it towards her, and it clicked, and the mantelpiece pulled forward a few inches. Heartened, Shiloh pulled with all her might on the heavy stone. To her surprise it rolled forward smoothly, revealing a long cement hallway. A secret passage, thought Shiloh, with a thrill of delight.

In her childhood, Shiloh had explored the big house from top to bottom, but the only "secret passage" was the one leading to her parents' grave. And that was a gas mains, not really secret per say, and shown to her by her father anyway. But here was one, right in front of her very eyes.

Shiloh was grinning as she entered the mouth of the tunnel, but it soon faded. The passageway was damp and dark as a tomb. With the gaping entrance at her back, Shiloh felt exposed, but she knew if she closed it she would be even more terrified.

She walked on, trying not to run, hurrying towards the dim light that flickered in the distance.

* * *

It was only a few more steps and down a flight of stairs until Shiloh found herself at her destination. And she had a nasty shock at what was there. She was standing in a cement room, full of light. Candles and lanterns covered every flat surface, wax dripping sluggishly to the floor. The light created a warm glow in the centre of the room, but dark shadows crawled in the corners. And in the middle of the room, bathed in the dappling light, was a corpse.

It was half covered in a tarp, and one arm hung down from the table, pale fingers almost grazing the floor. Its' blank eyes stared at Shiloh, and she froze in terror. She inched along the wall, trying to drag her eyes away from it, to the darkened archway on her right. The candlelight reflected off the dead woman's glassy eyes, making them seem to follow her across the room.

Taking a deep breath, she turned her back on the corpse and picked up a candle. Just as she lifted it to light the arch, there was a noise behind her. Biting her lip, Shiloh tried to convince herself it was nothing. Count to ten, deep breaths, there is totally not a zombie behind you.

The last thought was so ridiculous that she actually smiled. Then there was a scraping sound behind her and a grunt of "finally". Shiloh screamed and dropped the candle and there was a clattering crash behind her. Spinning around, she could see a shadow-cloaked figure standing behind the table. She had no air left in her lungs to scream again, but as she drew a breath the figure darted across the room and clapped a hand over her mouth.

"Shut. Up." Graverobber hissed, his long hair falling around her face and he leaned over her. Shiloh had forgotten how menacing he could look, and he had never seemed so tall before. She didn't realise his eyes were so dark, but now, inches from his face, she could see they were a deep green, flecked through with yellow. They were unreadable.

They stared at each other, each wondering who would be first to pull away. His voice, far softer than before, broke the silence.

"I'm going to step away now" he whispered, "don't scream." He stood back, and Shiloh drew in a lungful of air noisily. Graverobber started foreword again at her gasp, but was stopped by the glare she gave him.

"I'm allowed to breathe, aren't I?" she snapped, pulling the blanket back up around her shoulders. He shrugged, and looked away. If she didn't know better she'd have guess he was embarrassed.

"Guess I'm just not used to other people around me breathing," he said, turning back to the corpse. She could see now the crash beforehand must've been caused when he dropped a tray of scalpels and various twisted instruments. They now lay scattered across the floor, glinting evilly in the light. He must only just have finished picking them up, thought Shiloh, recalling the crash from the hallway, before she had caused him to drop them again.

She stared at Graverobber, who was now covering up the dead woman. Shiloh felt there should be more to discuss. She had come all this way, nearly been killed twice, and all they had done was exchange jibes. She felt angry and she didn't know exactly why.

"Why are you here?" she asked, crossing her arms across her chest. She needed to start somewhere after all. Graverobber spent a few seconds longer looking over the corpse before her replied, and even then, he just shrugged and said, "I needed a place to stay, I've got people after me."

Shiloh couldn't believe him; he hadn't even had the decency to turn around to talk to her!

"Well I've got people after me too, in case you didn't notice!" she said indignantly, stepping closer to him. He looked over his shoulder at her and grinned, catching her off guard.

"Yeah I noticed. You might also want to take notice of the fact that, if I didn't save you an' all, you'd be the one on this table right now!" he patted the cheek of the corpse next to him. Shiloh shuddered.

"Look," she sighed, "I'd just settle for the time at this point. I have a job and..." she trailed off. The anger was draining out of her now, and she realised she had no idea what to do, or no place to live. It didn't help that Graverobber was now sniggering at her.

He hopped up on the table beside the corpse, looking far more at ease next to the pile of rotting flesh than Shiloh was even looking at it. Sitting atop it, he looked at Shiloh properly for the first time since they had met. She watched as his eyes roved over the grubby blanket pulled tight around herself, down her skinny legs and then back up again. She felt like she was being inspected by a prospective buyer at a market, checking for defects.

But then he smiled, and it was the smile she remembered so well. That smirk, curling up at one side, flashing sharp canines. She caught his eye, but wasn't sure if she liked the look that he gave her. She didn't really know if she wanted to hear what he had to say. Even if he said it in that smooth, velvety tone of his, she thought fiercely.

"I wouldn't go back if I were you, kid," Graverobber said, and Shiloh frowned.

"Why not? It'll only take a day or two to clean up the flat, and I'm sure they'll take me back at the diner I'll be fi-"

Graverobber cut in on her ramblings, "I wasn't concerned about your wellbeing, doll. You think they're not gonna come after you again?" he chuckled and continued, "The minute you go back there you'll be shot down and dragged to her royal high-ness, if I recognised those thugs right. I did, didn't I?" he smiled grimly when Shiloh nodded mutely.

"I only had one bottle," she muttered, "she thinks I have more...or I'm getting more... what am I going to do?" she was talking to herself, but the Graverobber heard her. He slid off the table and looked at her curiously.

"Wait, you should Amber some Z? You? "

Shiloh looked up, confused. "Yeah of course... why else would they be after me?"

He shrugged, "Well, you're Shiloh Wallace... though you might look a little different." Here he looked her up and down, and she blushed," and Amber was a real daddies girl, so she might've been pissed that you killed him first. Or she was bored."

Shiloh shuddered, "n-no... I sold her zydrate..." she mumbled, and Graverobber shook his head.

"She'll never stop looking for you now...where did you even get something she would deem worthy of going after?" he asked. Shiloh saw the spark of jealously, (or was it fear?) mixed with the curiosity in his eyes.

"I didn't buy it, if that's what you're asking," she said defiantly. "I took- I found it."

"And you don't have any more?"

"No."

Grave robber sighed and leaned back against the table. "She'll kill you, you know."

Shiloh blinked, caught off by the sudden, harsh statement. Graverobber took no notice of her horrified look and went on, "when she finds out you don't have anything, and who you are."

"b-but what if I got some more, what if I-"

"And how're you going to get some, huh? 'Cause I sure as hell amn't going to give one more drop to that bitch! " Graverobber growled, stepping closer to Shiloh, who cowered away.

"Look, kid," he sneered, bearing down on her, "the company, and a few more people in my case, are after us. I can't even show my face on the streets anymore! And without my help, you wouldn't last a day selling...selling..." he trailed off, staring into the distance.

"uh... Graverobber?" Shiloh squeaked, unsure how to address him, but not wanting to remain stuck in this half-crouched position she had been forced into as he had loomed over her.

He blinked, seeming to just remember that she was there. He stepped back hastily, and ran a hand though his multicoloured hair. A grin was beginning to spread across his face, and there was a strangle twinkle in his eye.

"I think..." he said, and looked at her, grin now fully formed," maybe...yes, come on kid, I'll explain upstairs."

"Wh-what exactly are you planning?" Shiloh asked apprehensively, but he simply began to walk to the corridor, beckoning her to follow.

"You're a waitress, right? Any good at handling cranky customers?"

Shiloh's heart sank at the words, and she had a nagging feeling she knew what was unfolding. But his voice, amplified by the echoing corridor, sent shivers down her spine, and it wasn't like she had any other choice. She followed him into the dark.

* * *

**ok, done! Tada!**

**What did you think of graves? Is he oc? If he is I'll do over (really don't want him oc, of all people)**

**R&R my darlings~ CC**


	8. An: an explanation (sorry)

Guys, I'm sorry i haven't been posting, and I just want to say I haven't given up on this story. This is my best fanfic, and you guys are awesome.

It's because my body hates me, and I'm infected, by my own genetics... and lets just say myself and (the old) Shiloh have pretty much the same hairstyle now (ie. none).

Anyway, yeah, cancer.  
I'm past the worst of it, but I just haven't had the energy to write and on top of that my laptop just broke, so i'm really stuck.

I'll try and get it sorted in the next week or so, and give ye a chapter or two more before I'm indisposed again :P

I'm really sorry this isn't a chapter, but I just want to give ye an explanation.

~CC


	9. Little glass vials

_**Hey everyone! I'm on my final big treatment, which isn't going too bad right now :)**_  
_**So I'm able to grant you lovely people with a chapter. I'm sorry its not the best, the next few are going to be fillers too, unfortunately.**_

_**And thank you to my new followers! And my old followers that have been so supportive to me :)**_  
_**I had a good bit of writers block on this one so I'd appreciate your input please.**_

_**Enjoy**_

* * *

This was a bad idea. Shiloh knew that. Even as she pulled on Graverobber's over-long coat and laced up her boots, Shiloh thought it to herself.

This wasn't how it was supposed to go. She was supposed to meet the Graverobber and then... what? She had never really let herself think about that, except when her mind had wandered, in dark moments of the night, or during a slow day at the diner.

'But I never imagined doing this,' she thought as she pulled on a pair of fingerless gloves. How had she let life do this to her? Why had she been so desperate to find someone, that she had let it all come to this? Especially since that someone didn't even want her around in the first place...

Over the past few days Shiloh had stayed in the house. She had found out how Graverobber had been surviving; sleeping in Shiloh's old bed (which she had not been very happy about, and had immediately claimed back), pillaging the graveyard at night in his repo disguise, and generally just moping about the house. Food was delivered in the dead of night, by a scrawny young man, in exchange for zydrate. And Shiloh had a feeling that was his only regular customer.

He had mainly left her to her own devices after he had explained his plan. He slept during the day in some far- flung corner of the house, only ever appearing to steal a portion of the food Shiloh had cooked on the ancient hot pot he had scavenged from god knows where. They didn't exchange any personal information, or even have a conversation that went beyond the realm of jibes and snarky comments.

Shiloh distracted herself cleaning out her room, making it the one place in the house that was fully inhabitable, free of dust, dirt and grime. She had been warned by Graverobber to leave the windows grubby, but everything else was scrubbed until it shone. She burned her old soft toys, and shoved the skeleton in her closet. She even took down her mother's portrait. By the end of the week, the room was clean and bare, stripped of all reminders of her childhood, bar her insect collection.

She had worked far too hard to throw that away, she told herself. She spent her days looking over each pinned butterfly and beetle, and trying to quell the feeling of rising panic that was threatening to overwhelm her.

But she hadn't broached the subject with Graverobber; he had seemed so excited as he explained it to her. She had said "Just this one time," but she had seen the look in his eyes, like an exiled king, desperate to reclaim his throne and subjects. And every king needs a knight to fight for them, thought Shiloh, walking down the stairs. A knight... or a pawn.

Her boots thumped on the hollow steps as she walked down the stairs. They had been scraped clean of muck, but Shiloh doubted that they would ever be the same again. Graverobber had gotten rid of the clothes she had left behind, and so she still wore the same outfit, the net top now riddled with holes and stretched out of shape. She caught sight of herself in a mirror as she crossed the hall and had to do a double take. With the ragged clothes, mucky boots and greasy hair, she looked for all the world like a grave robber.

She ran her fingers through her grubby hair and sighed, she was going to have to brave a cold shower sooner or later if she didn't want to end up with dreadlocks. It seemed as though Graverbber had chosen the latter option, eternally.

He was waiting for her in the lab, already dressed in his disguise, the black rubber glistening like oil in the candle light. He looked at her, drowning in his old coat, and grinned.

"Suits you, kid," he said, handing her over a small leather satchel. It was heavier than she expected. Peering inside, she found it was lit with the blue glow of zydrate, the bottles kept separate and safe in pockets lining the sides.

At the bottom of the bags were the couple of knife-like scalpels, and a strange gun. Shiloh picked it up warily, and pulled it out of the bag. It was small but heavy, with a vicious-looking needle where the barrel should be.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" she squeaked, holding it as far away from her as possible. Graverobber looked at her incredulously, taking the gun from her.

"It's for injecting zydrate, duh"

"I have to do that? C-can't they just do it themselves?"

He sighed, "This is the easiest way... Don't you remember?"

Shiloh frowned and shook her head. "All I can remember is that zydrate comes in a little glass vial."

Graverobber reached into his pocket and extracted a glass bottle, holding it in front of her.

"A little glass vial," he said, gesturing to it.

"A little glass vial," mumbled Shiloh, feeling a serious sense of déjà vu. Now Graverobber held up the gun and slid the bottle into it. It clicked ominously.

"And the little glass vial goes into the gun like a battery, see?"

"Okay..."

Then he stepped forward, too close, and she felt the needle scrape against her neck. Their bodies were pressed together, one of his legs between hers, a hand on her back. His mouth was at her ear, so close she could feel his lips move, brushing against the delicate skin.

"And then the gun goes somewhere against your anatomy."

His voice, smooth as velvet, sent shivers running down her spine. His warm breath raised hairs on the back of her neck, along her arms, and a hot flush rose on her cheeks, creeping down her neck. It was only a moment, but it seemed far longer for Shiloh. A long, delicious moment that Shiloh wasn't sure she wanted to end.

For just a split second, she was terrified that the sharp point of the needle was going to sink beneath her flesh, that he was going to pull the trigger and push the toxic fluid into her veins. But her terror ended when he stepped back, leaving her neck unharmed and her blood thumping in her veins.

He looked at her with eyes that seemed glazed over, and roughly handed her back the gun, quickly turning away and walking back to his workbench. There was no trace of the easy grin she had expected to see on his face. The warmth, closeness and alarm of a few seconds ago was gone as suddenly as it arrived.

Shiloh stood where she was for a few minutes, mind boggled. Graverobber was standing with his back to her, hands gripping the side of the table. The air was full of tension, and Shiloh felt one word would cause the whole world to shatter.

Just as Shiloh was about to relax, Graverobber glanced over his shoulder and saw her still standing there. His lip curled into a snarl and when he spoke his voice was low and harsh, like he was out of breath.

"Why are you just standing there? Go do your job, kid."

Shiloh frowned, feeling more hurt than she thought she'd be. She hoisted the satchel over her shoulder and left the room quietly, casting him one last confused glance. Her footsteps echoed all the way up the passage, and it was only when he heard the front door slam that Graverobber moved from his frozen stance.

Letting out a groan of frustration, he kicked the nearest table. It went rattling across the floor, scattering candles and utensils, the noise building to a deafening din in the echoing room. He turned over another table, laden with bottles and jars of zydrate, watching them shatter and spill the glowing blue liquid over the basement floor. None of it made him feel any better though, and he slammed his fist into a wall before leaning against it, nursing his grazed knuckles and panting.

This was out of bounds, it wasn't allowed. The girl was barely seventeen and he was… he was too old to be messing with someone like that. He couldn't stop thinking of her as the innocent kid from last year, but it was clear she so much more then that now. And he was pulling her further into the underworld that didn't deserve her.

Graverobber cursed and ran his fingers through his hair, sinking to the cold floor.

Shiloh walked quickly and calmly up the stone steps and out the door. Once she was sure she was out of earshot, she ran as fast as she could down the street, dashing down a narrow street between two tall houses, slowing to a jog as the large manors gave way to streets of damp-walled apartment blocks.

She was almost shaking from the adrenaline that was rushing though her body, and she finally understood what all those books had meant by "weak at the knees". She was finding it difficult to stand, and leaned heavily against the wall, panting.

She could still almost feel the sharp point of the needle and the brush of his lips against her ear. An involuntary shiver ran through her, and she blushed, recalling the warmth of his hand, and his leg pressed between hers. And his voice, almost a growl. She could have listened to that voice all day.

Shiloh was sure this was wrong. But she wasn't sure if she minded. She tried to focus on the things that were wrong, invading her personal space, endangering her wellbeing, scaring her. But her mind kept being drawn back to the closeness between their bodies, the warmth of this breath that smelled slightly of liquor, that way that he barely touched his fingertips to her back, like she was something delicate.

She tried shaking her head, to rid herself of the memories, but to no avail. She didn't know what was going on, or how it would be like when she got back. If she went back, what would she find? There was only one way to find out, but first, she had to find an addict or two.

Feeling a lot warmer than she should be in the cool night air, Shiloh headed off into the dark.

* * *

**_There, finally!_  
_Sorry for taking so long and everything, and for this for being kind of a filler chapter. _**

**_Please tell me how you think, thanks for reading ^^  
~CC_**


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